The Poetical Works of Thomas Hood, Numéro 730

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Page 282 - I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then That is so heavy now, And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow. I remember, I remember The fir trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky: It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy To know I'm farther off from- Heaven Than when I was a boy.
Page 402 - He has no children. All my pretty ones? Did you say all? O hell-kite! All? What, all my pretty chickens and their dam At one fell swoop?
Page 113 - Ben. Battle was a soldier bold, And used to war's alarms; But a cannon-ball took off his legs, So he laid down his arms. Now as they bore him off the field, Said he, "Let others shoot; For here I leave my second leg, And the Forty-second Foot.
Page 282 - The lilacs where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburnum on his birth-day,— The tree is living yet!
Page 297 - Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, And one with a heavy stone, One hurried gash with a hasty knife, And then the deed was done : There was nothing lying at my foot, But lifeless flesh and bone...
Page 306 - THERE is a silence where hath been no sound, There is a silence where no sound may be, In the cold grave — under the deep deep sea...
Page 300 - Then down I cast me on my face, And first began to weep, For I knew my secret then was one That earth refused to keep ; Or land or sea, though he should be Ten thousand fathoms deep. " So wills the fierce avenging sprite, Till blood for blood atones — Ay, though he's buried in a cave, And trodden down with stones, And years have rotted off his flesh — The world shall see his bones.
Page 299 - One stern tyrannic thought, that made all other thoughts its slave ; Stronger and stronger every pulse did that temptation crave, — Still urging me to go and see the Dead Man in his grave...
Page 274 - I SAW old Autumn in the misty morn Stand shadowless like Silence, listening To silence, for no lonely bird would sing Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn, Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn ; Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright With tangled gossamer that fell by night, Pearling his coronet of golden corn.
Page 114 - One end he tied around a beam, And then removed his pegs, And, as his legs were off, — of course, He soon was off his legs! And there he hung till he was dead As any nail in town, — For though distress had cut him up, It could not cut him down! A dozen men sat on his corpse, To find out why he died — And they buried Ben in four crossroads. With a stake in his inside!

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